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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23918080">Home Base</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcschnuggles/pseuds/mcschnuggles'>mcschnuggles</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Age Regression/De-Aging, CGRE - Caregiver/Age Regressor, Caregiver!Byakuya, Gen, Regressing!Toko</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:27:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,267</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23918080</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcschnuggles/pseuds/mcschnuggles</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Toko doesn't know how to describe her relationship with Byakuya. Neither does he. But the only thing that matters is that when she needs him, he's there.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Fukawa Touko &amp; Togami Byakuya</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Home Base</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I wrote this entirely for me but y'all can read it if you like</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>            <em>Knock, knock</em>.</p><p>            Toko holds her breath, waiting for the inevitable “go away” from the other side of the door. Her chest feels tight, so she’s not breathing right. It probably sounds weird from the other side of the door. She tucks her pinkie between her lips, biting on the already-worn nail as a form of comfort.</p><p>            “It’s unlocked.” Byakuya’s voice answers. She knows it’s not, and the quiet click of the door just confirms it. Byakuya never leaves his door unlocked, but he seems to want to reinforce his “open door” policy between them.</p><p>            Toko waits a few seconds, letting Byakuya return to his chair and go back to his book, so she can enter and see him like he never moved.</p><p>            He sits perched in the armchair by his bed, making an effort to look utterly disinterested in the world around him. It’s so rare that Toko seeks him out in his room specifically. Here, it always means something. Something big.</p><p>            Byakuya raises an eyebrow, turning the page with a flick of his finger. “What do you want, Toko?”</p><p>            “I n-need help.”</p><p>            Byakuya glances up from his book, snapping it shut with one hand. “Wouldn’t Makoto be a better choice then?”</p><p>            Toko scowls at her shoes. He knows very well what she means by that, he just wants to hear her say it. “No. I <em>need</em> help. From you.”</p><p>            He looks on, waiting for her to say it.</p><p>            “I need you.”</p><p>            And there it is.</p><p>            Byakuya sets his book aside, crossing the space between them in three quick strides. He’s a good head taller than her, so instead of face-to-face, they stand chest-to-face. The space between them is small, but it’s there, so the first move is all hers. It’s her decision. Toko ducks her head, resting her forehead against his collarbone. </p><p>            Neither of them very much like the idea of “needing” another person. Mainly from familiarity, Toko prefers to be useful. She likes having an object of affection, someone honest, but she wouldn’t say that she ever felt like she’d needed another person.</p><p>            Enter Byakuya. Different damage, same shitty childhood. And shockingly enough, same coping mechanism. When and where they got to this point, she had no idea. Everything about their relationship was written in code, drafted in a language of unspoken agreements.</p><p>            The words “I need you” are the closest they get to transparency. She and Byakuya never say it if it isn’t true, and that alone is enough to shift the tone of every interaction.</p><p>            They stay like that, locked in semi-contact for a few beats, before it becomes too much and Toko pulls back. Her brain is fuzzy, and every stimulus feels like <em>too much</em>. Even the scratch of her clothes is overwhelming.</p><p>            “Sit,” he instructs, shooing her in the direction of a small footstool. To the average observer, they might think it’s just a place for him to put his bag, but the average person probably wouldn’t look at the unicorn stickers lining the inside of the legs.</p><p>            Toko does as she’s told and sits. She’s so low to the ground that her knees tuck easily against her chest. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Byakuya locking the door, sliding the deadbolt into place, testing its strength by pushing against it. She can only guess it’s a habit he picked up from his time at Hope’s Peak.</p><p>            “Why are you here tonight, Toko?”</p><p>            She jerks her head up at the sound of her name. Sitting here, Byakuya towering over her, only knocks her down a few more pegs. Not that she came over feeling particularly big, but the way he lingers over her makes her feel infinitely smaller.</p><p>            Byakuya takes her hand, pulling it away from her face. “Stop that.” Only then does she realize she’d been sucking on the end of her braid. He glares down his nose at her. “Has this been going on all day?”</p><p>            Not <em>all</em> day. She’d been holding up fine until around noon, when the people and the noises and the <em>everything</em> became too much for her to handle. It’s easy to hide as a writer, when all anyone needed from you was to “write their story,” but that’s only a part of it. The whir of the air conditioner, the feel of food that was <em>wrong</em>. It had all been in a steady build-up.</p><p>            “No. Stop that too.” He pulls her hand free and she realizes she was tugging at her hair. Her scalp aches from a long day of painful stimming.  </p><p>            Byakuya takes one of her braids by the end and pulls the ribbon loose in a single fluid motion. The pull on the back of her head immediately loosens.</p><p>            “When was the last time you bathed?”</p><p>            Admittedly it’s been a while. It’s not her fault! She just has trouble braiding her hair after she washes it. There’s no use in protesting, however. He’s already peeled off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.</p><p>            “Bathroom. Now.” Byakuya commands. “Your hair is filthy.”</p><p>            His tone leaves no room for argument, and even if it did, she isn’t sure she’d want to fight it. One of the most calming things about regressing is being told what to do, and having someone she trusts enough to listen. She obediently trails behind him into his private bathroom.</p><p>            Byakuya tosses a folded-up towel over to her. “You know the drill,” he says.</p><p>            She takes off her jacket, leaving her upper body bare aside from her undershirt, and stashes her glasses in her skirt pocket. The towel goes under her knees, saving them from the unyielding tile flooring as she hunches over the lid of the tub.</p><p>            After a pause, his voice is infinitely softer. “It’ll be alright,” he says, offering the comfort to the shower knob as he turns it on. They never have the nerve to offer comfort words directly to one another unless it’s really bad.</p><p>            He brushes out her hair in slow, deliberate strokes as the water runs. It forms a shallow pool in the tub, just deep enough for the tips of her hair to soak comfortably. The brush moves smoothly through her hair. Even when it snags on tangles, Byakuya carefully maneuvers through them, which her tender scalp is grateful for. The buzz in her mind begins to hush.</p><p>            “Stop.” Byakuya says again. He says it just as Toko accidentally chews a painful tear on the inside of her cheek. How does he know she’s doing that when he can’t even see her face? “Use your necklace.”</p><p>            The chew necklace had been a gift, from none other than Byakuya himself. The delivery had been unceremonious; he’d just tossed it to her, claiming the way her jaw moved when she chewed on her lips was distracting and unpleasant. She rarely took it off, even when the feel of plastic irritated her most.</p><p>            The middle charm is shaped like a mushroom, and that one’s her favorite. It’s close enough to an actual pacifier to soothe her headspace while also not being too obvious. She’d rather dive headfirst into another killing game before she got caught with an actual pacifier. One of the cardinal rules of being a bullying target is don’t give them solid evidence. Rumors are bad enough.</p><p>            Byakuya rinses her hair using a small plastic cup he keeps under the sink. Any more water at once can overload her entirely, so they work in small steps.</p><p>            The shampoo comes next. She uses the cheap stuff, anti-dandruff shampoo she used to get from the corner store. Whatever Byakuya uses is thankfully unscented and leaves her hair feeling soft and hydrated for days. It makes these rare occasions feel even more special.</p><p>            He works mainly on her scalp, massaging his fingers through her hair, and works his way away from her roots. His main focus is getting rid of all the excess oil on her head. As desperately as the rest of her hair needs care, he can only do so much. Neither one of them want to sit hunched over this stupid bathtub all night.</p><p>            The worries come bubbling up out of her mouth before she can stop them. “Y-you secretly hate me too, don’t you?”</p><p>            “Don’t be ridiculous.” Byakuya snaps. “I wouldn’t be bothering with this otherwise.”</p><p>            He rinses out her hair in silence. Not that he’s mad at her, he just prefers the silence, particularly if he has nothing to say. Toko watches as the water turns sudsy, cupful by cupful.</p><p>            She tries again. “How’s your n-nephew?”</p><p>            Byakuya immediately brushes her off. “None of your concern, as he won’t be visiting anytime soon.” To punctuate his point, he drops a towel on her head, which is her cue to start drying. He takes a smaller hand towel and works about drying the rest of her hair.</p><p>            Toko needs him, but it’s his “nephew” that needs her. It doesn’t bother her any; she knows it’s all for his pride’s sake. After all, it’s much easier to say his <em>nephew</em> gets scared at loud noises, that his <em>nephew</em> can’t handle the sound of an older man raising his voice, that his <em>nephew</em> is so messed up that sometimes the only thing that can calm him down is a slap in the face.</p><p>            The concern, however, makes him soften. “Your split ends are back.”</p><p>            “Cut them.”</p><p>            Byakuya hums. “Perhaps. If someone remembers her manners.”</p><p>            He’s teasing her. There’s the slightest hint of a smile in his voice, one that makes it easier for her to smile herself. She grins into the crook of her arm. “Please cut them,” she murmurs, bracing herself as he goes for the scissors.</p><p>            She laces her fingers together, pressing her hands tightly into her lap. If there’s a sound she hates more than the sound of scissors, she has yet to find it.</p><p>            She doesn’t trust herself, nor does she trust Jack, so she clamps her hands together and doesn’t even breathe until it’s all over.</p><p>            Thankfully, it’s over quickly. Years of practice have made Byakuya incredibly efficient, so all it takes is a few quick snips and it’s done. She doesn’t know where he puts the scissors when he’s done with them. She doesn’t want to know.</p><p>            It’s a minor weight, barely anything compared to the rest of her hair, but there’s still a noticeable difference. The end of her hair is already softer to the touch. She fiddles with the new ends as Byakuya brushes out the rest of her hair.</p><p>            “Here.”</p><p>            It barely feels like any time at all—which is how she knows how fall she’s slipped into headspace—when the brush is gone and a stick of deodorant is being pressed into her hand. She has her own stick of deodorant in Byakuya’s room. Sharing shampoo is one thing, but deodorant is too personal for either of them, so Toko is quickly accruing her own little shelf in Byakuya’s bathroom.</p><p>            She applies the proffered deodorant, hoping it’ll be enough to get her through the night. She’s overdue for a proper shower, but that’s something she’ll worry about in the morning. For now, she’ll do the best she can, which is deodorant and a couple of facial wipes. Unscented, because the scented ones can be just as overwhelming as a shower.</p><p>            They tie her hair into loose pigtails, to let it dry easier. It’ll be a group project in the morning to braid it back into place, which just means Byakuya is going to do it. His fingers are deft and nimble—much more so than hers. But that’s an issue to deal with in the morning.</p><p>            He offers her a rare smile, the slightest upturn of his lips. It always feels weird, awkward to express those emotions, because in the end, it’s just a silent way of saying “I’m fond of you.” Another code, this one achingly transparent.</p><p>            “You should rest.”</p><p>            With a little nod, Toko heads for his bed. Underneath is a folded blanket, plush and decorated with a disgusting amount of unicorns, set aside just for her. She wraps it around her body before crawling into bed.</p><p>            Byakuya joins her a few minutes later, clad in nightclothes and book in hand. “Are you going to talk about what’s bothering you or are you going to sit there and sulk?” he asks, idly flipping back to the page he’d left off on.</p><p>            “N-nothing’s bothering me.” Toko mutters. “It’s just…head fuzziness.”</p><p>            Byakuya hums. “Would you like me to read to you?”</p><p>            “Wh-what are you reading?”</p><p>            “Does it matter?”</p><p>            It doesn’t. She’s at the point where words are washing right over her. If she concentrates, she can manage to fish out the gist of what’s being said to her, but that can only last so much longer. She longs to fall into the haze her headspace would give her. At least there, things are quiet.</p><p>            As Byakuya begins to read, she finds that solace quickly. He reads in a low, even tone. If she hadn’t caught the phrase “world-renowned criminal,” she could just picture him reading to kindergartners. That, and if he didn’t hate kids—well, all but one.</p><p>            He lays his palm flat on the bed, close to her face. Neither of them are comfortable with physical affection yet. Try as they might, they both flinch when they so much as hug. This is their compromise, their baby steps forward.</p><p>            Toko curls her fingers around his, finding them cold to the touch.</p><p>            Tucking her chew necklace back into her mouth is the last bump she needs to finally fall asleep.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>mcschnuggles.tumblr.com</p></blockquote></div></div>
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